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The Gentle Way
He steadies me when storms arise,He keeps my heart at peace;He makes sure meals are never missed,And anxious thoughts release.He watches that my tablets comeAt times they’re meant to be;His quiet care, his gentle ways,Bring daily strength to me.Though beds may stand in separate roomsFor breath and rest to stay,Our love still holds through every… Continue reading
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Night Watch
On nights when my husband is not well, our cats call me to keep watch. This image and poem honour NeuroDivine care—where animals serve as sentinels, attention becomes prayer, and love stands vigil in quiet hours. Night Watch The house lies still in shadowed hush,yet soft paws stir the air;the cats come whispering through the… Continue reading
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Hours. Pump. Grace.
As I begin another week of dialysis, I come as I am—carrying tiredness, hope, and whatever this day holds. This hymn was written in the quiet place where machines hum and my heart keeps its own steady rhythm. It reminds me that Christ is here with me: in the care I receive, in the long… Continue reading
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Fall. Grace. Love.
This morning did not unfold as expected. Before Mass began, our celebrant was injured in a fall and taken to hospital. In her absence, the community gathered for Morning Prayer and the Litany. The form of worship changed, but prayer continued. What had been prepared for Eucharist became something simpler and quieter, shaped by attentiveness… Continue reading
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From Morning Light to Setting Sun
Sexagesima (the Second Sunday before Lent) draws our attention to the quiet, faithful work of God—the sowing of the seed, the shaping of hearts, the long patience of love that bears fruit in its time. Before we strive, before we worry, before the dawn itself, God is already at work. This hymn is a prayer… Continue reading
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Grace. Place. Presence.
This hymn grew out of a quiet attentiveness to place—to fields, water, stone, and memory—and to the way faith so often takes root through landscape rather than abstraction. Drawing on the life and legacy of St Mel, it traces a spiritual geography shaped by County Longford and Ardagh: hills walked slowly, wells where prayer lingers,… Continue reading
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Shepherd. Host. High King.
This hymn began with a simple wondering: What if Christ doesn’t only meet us at the table, but walks the whole week with us? Faith is rarely confined to sacred hours. It unfolds in Mondays heavy with responsibility, Wednesdays full of noise, Fridays marked by grief, and Saturdays thick with waiting. This hymn traces the… Continue reading
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The Curious Case of the McDonald’s Brownie
Some days, the universe really does like to test your commitment to staying regulated. On Wednesday, I ordered a chocolate brownie at the McDonald’s self-service kiosk. Paid for it, waited… only to be told it had to be refunded because they weren’t ready yet. Fair enough. Mildly irritating, but logical. They were still frozen, and… Continue reading
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Claimed. Accompanied. Sent.
I wrote this hymn slowly, paying attention to water. Not water as an idea, but water as something that moves, waits, gathers, seeps, and returns. Water that has weight and sound and temperature. Water that holds memory. Baptism is often talked about as a moment—something that happens and is done. For me, baptism has always… Continue reading
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Succession. Loss. Continuity.
For more than seventy years, the sixth of February carried a singular weight in the United Kingdom and other Commonwealth realms. As Accession Day, it marked the moment when private loss and public duty first converged, and over time it became a fixed point in the national memory—quietly observed rather than celebrated. I wrote this… Continue reading
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Courage. Gentleness. Wisdom
This hymn grew out of listening rather than certainty. It brings together two women who never met, yet somehow recognise one another across time and land. Saint Agatha, standing her ground in the hard stone world of Rome, and Saint Brigid, whose holiness took root in hearth-fire, field, and care for ordinary people. One knew… Continue reading
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Flour. Aprons. Presence.
For many of us, faith is encountered not first through abstraction or silence, but through texture, rhythm, repetition, and shared work. This poem emerges from the sensory world of baking—warmth, fragrance, patience, and touch—and attends to grace as something embodied and practiced rather than merely believed. Written to be read, prayed, or sung, it traces… Continue reading
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Lines. Rise. Twice.
When the Words Arrive Twice This morning I wrote a poem for a grieving friend. The words came quickly—not rushed, but with that quiet certainty that sometimes accompanies deep care. They felt true. They felt needed. They felt like mine to offer. And yet, before I pressed “publish,” I did what many of us do:… Continue reading
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Held in the humming
A poem expressing the medical treatment I experience. The morning hums its fragile tune,the clinic lights grow bright;on Monday, Wednesday, Friday dawnsI take my steady rite.The lines connect with practiced care,the blood begins its round;a pilgrim held by humming pumps,yet rooted in this ground.Twice yearly comes the Dublin trip,a check that keeps me true;HIV’s a… Continue reading
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Kept on honour
From Bushmills’ coast the malts arise,Black Bush with warmth that stays;The ten-year bright with morning light,The sixteen deep as days.The Reserve kept for nights of cheer,Firelight falling low now;A quiet dram, the hour held still,As amber shadows glow.A pink gin softens fading light,Sloe gin warms the cool air;And port, when taken gently warm,Brings peace beyond… Continue reading
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God’s Whisper Everywhere
A short poem in celebration of God’s whisper written during a restless night. Continue reading
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Platform Wait
The platform wind cuts through my coat, My patience wears too thin;Two hours between each wretched train— What state are we all in?A bank-day hush lies on the tracks, The cold seeps through my bones;The loudspeaker stays deathly mute, Ignoring all my groans.I pace the boards, I stamp my feet, I mutter at the sky;So who designed this dismal plan And… Continue reading
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Soft. Anchor. Steadfast.
Otto sits gently by my side,Grey Belfast hoodie wrapped with pride;A quiet friend who does not speak,Yet offers calm when days feel bleak.His soft paws rest within my own,A steadying weight I’ve always known;He comes to dialysis with me too,And helps me face what I must do.When noise or brightness starts to swell,He anchors me… Continue reading
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Umbrellas. Flowers. Puddle.
The rain beats softly on the glass;the ward keeps steady time.A holiday that will not pausefor weather, will, or rhyme.Coats drip in corners, umbrellas closelike flowers bruised by rain.The nurses move with gentle poisethrough hours long and plain.Your blood flows out, your blood flows in—a tide you cannot sway.Yet kindness holds you, calm and thin,through… Continue reading
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Walk. Prayer. Grace – “We walk Saint Brigid’s way today”
We walk Saint Brigid’s way today We walk Saint Brigid’s way todayThrough Monasterevin’s grace;With pilgrim hearts and steady stepsWe seek God’s holy place.We gather at the parish church,One family in prayer;To bless the road, to share the light,And meet Christ walking there.We thank you, God, for shepherds sentTo guide this flock with care;For bishops who,… Continue reading
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